patient 1624311
by devonis123
Summary: A young psychiatric nurse becomes entrapped within a web of deceit and lies orchestrated by an old enemy. Chapter five is finally up. Oh My God. Resurrection and plots involving my boss...I've had too little sleep and damn that coffee machine to hell!
1. patient 1624331 pt 1

Name – Ryan Khun Age – 21 

Birth date – 24/10/1985

Number – 1624311

Room – 1327

This is a file I am compiling on patient 1624311. This is an accurate report of the interactions with this individual and the events surrounding the above said patient.

I walked up and down the white corridors, waiting for the Chief Director to arrive. He was conducting the necessary routine checks that came with his position; these were essential to keep this place in good condition. He was coming to check on the maximum-security ward I was in charge of. Having only worked here a couple of months I worried, but the squeaking of leather shoes on laminate ruptured my bout of anxiety. I stood up a little straighter and took a deep breath. This was it. I swiped my identity card through the slot, drew back the numerous bolts and pushed the steel door open; we stepped into the single corridor that was reserved for the only most violent, psychotic killers who'd never see the light of day again. We named them the Damned. If God made mistakes, these human beings were at the top of the list. I ushered him down the corridor, to the last door on the right. A simple strip of paper indicated the name of the "patient" and their number. Khun and 1624311. It seemed ill fitting, like a coat that was several sizes too small, it was too normal. I looked in the single circular glass window to see the figure of a man slumped in one of the corners. He wore a straightjacket to prevent him from harming himself or others. The padded room seemed too large for such a small figure, like a cathedral built for a single preacher.

I swiped my card again and opened the door. He didn't move, he probably couldn't considering the amount of sedatives in his medication. I gestured to the Chief Director to enter. He walked slowly up to patient and just when he was about to touch his shoulder, when Ryan Khun burst into life. He jumped to his unsteady feet before falling as the blood rushed to his head. He bounded away on his knees in a desperate flurry into the opposite corner. He stared not at us but through us, with violent anger and a gut-wrenching fear in his eyes. He curled up with his knees as close to his chest as the jacket allowed and he hid his head behind them. He never once made eye contact with his light-green eyes, which, at close inspection were flecked with yellow; his hair was brown and brushed into his eyes if he kept his head still. The chief shook his head as if disappointed and made to leave. I looked back once and met the gaze of Ryan, righteous anger filled his eyes as if his very soul was rebelling against his condition, and he redirected it to the Chief Director as he left and he spat out two words with as much venom as his cracked lips could muster " Cyrus Kriticos".

The Director stopped and spun round, hate obvious in his eyes, his upper lip curled in disgust. I thought he was going to hit him and I readied myself to stop him, but no. He just turned again and left the room. I walked out of the room feeling the burning gaze of one of the Damned returned to my back as I crossed the threshold. We walked back along the corridor and I shut the massive door, re-bolted it and followed the Chief back out of the basement in which the maximum-security unit was situated. I jogged slightly to keep up with his determined stride. I went with him until he reached his office and he went in, slamming the door in my face. I wandered away back to my own office; there was no work to be done so I decided to take a detour to the archives. I reached them and flipped the switch on the main computer. I had a notion and typed in the name Ryan Khun. There were 2 hits, one for 2006 and one for 1901. I went onto the older one and watched as a list of symptoms, conditions and his Doctors logbook. They were identical to the man's record I was familiar with. The treatments were horrific to say the least; electrocution, flogging, beatings, starvation and even a solid iron cage was placed on his head permanently.

It was horrific to read, trying to imagine what it must feel like to go through that. Finally he died in a fire that ravaged the old asylum, his body was never found. I stood and walked the length of the room; this seemed too much of a coincidence. Was resurrection possible?

I think the lack of coffee and sleep was affecting my mind, conspiracies involving resurrection, tortured patients and my boss! I think it was definitely affecting my head. I decided to pay Ryan an unscheduled visit anyway.

I walked down and reopened the door for the second time that night and hurried to 1327, opened it and slid inside. Ryan was sitting in the corner rocking back and forward staring at the ceiling with a yearning expression on his face, I sometimes wished they could see the stars at night but then I remember what they'd done to deserve this and my conscious shuts up.

He didn't acknowledge my presence until I coughed; he turned his head and stared at me sadly instead. His mood thoroughly disturbed me, on his file it said he was aggressive, volatile and not to be approached unarmed, which was exactly what I was. Damn the coffee to hell.

His eyes changed, it was like someone else was moulded inside him and it kept flicking back and forth between them. They had been green, now they were more of a grey and his face almost cracked as a leering grin spread across his face. He stared at me and almost jumped to his feet but something stopped him, grounded him there. His whole face fuzzed slightly and turned back to the sad expression and solemn green eyes. His whole frame shook, his eyes squeezed together and perspiration broke out along his forehead, he was in obvious pain. Suddenly, scars opened up across his face and what had once been his fingers, now more like claws, cut through the material of his straightjacket. Every fibre in my body was screaming to escape but I was fascinated by this surreal transformation, it was like a modern day Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. The spell of enchantment was broken when he made a move to fly at me, I got the hell out of there and slammed the door behind me just in time to hear him smash into it. I hurried away and tried to forget what I'd seen. Maybe I needed a room of my own here.

The next day I sat in my office, contemplating whether to start my awaiting paperwork or not, when the phone rang, its ring a continuous and high tone annoyed the hell out of me but when I did eventually answer it, it was replaced by an even more annoying shrill nasal voice, I almost hung up before I heard the message. The Chief Director wanted to see me in his office, immediately.

I walked briskly up the stairs, trying hard not to worry as my mind created various scenarios each more disturbing than the last.

I shuffled to the glass-panelled door, knocked sharply rapping my knuckles against the glass before opening the door, walking through and closing it behind me. What greeted me still manages to chill me to the core. My boss, Mr Kriticos, the most feared man in the entire asylum including all the patients, stood holding a young man by the throat. The man's face donned glasses, which reminded me of a scientist in a clean room, he wore a black suit, a crimson shirt and his blue eyes were almost yelling at me as they turned red, his blood splattered lips remained pursed in effort but silent, yet I heard a sentence echo through the air. "I've been looking for a reason to like myself for a long time". I inhaled, ready to scream but as soon as I was ready the whole scene changed. The young man had disappeared and Cyrus was sitting behind his oak desk scratching away at his paperwork, the work I'd been neglecting. I stood gaping until he looked and coughed, snapping me out of my horrified trance. I managed to splutter out an excuse of feeling unwell before the room spun and everything turned to black.

I awoke in a hospital bed with a concerned looking nurse hovering at my bedside. She began to explain what had happened but before she could finish I felt the sick rising in my throat. She rushed over and took my hand, pain exploded in my head and I snatched it away before vomiting onto the linoleum floor. The last thing I remember before passing out again is Cyrus standing in the doorway with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

I awoke once more in the same bed but minus the nurse. Cyrus, a man I was beginning to loathe in every way possible for very few reasons, replaced her. He stood with a thin coat of concern masking his monumental greed, but for what I'm unsure. He seemed to be talking but I couldn't understand a word of it, all I could hear was a low buzz as if a radio had been tuned between two stations and plugged into my ears.


	2. patient 1624311 pt 2

The static finally cleared up and Cyrus's' voice filtered through.

"Well, hello Ms McKlarik, and how are you today?"

I closed my eyes and tried to make him go away with the power of my mind, but that never works, so I ignored him, which works most of the time.

"Very well, Ms, but I warn you I'm an extremely patient man and you will have to talk to me sooner or later".

As he left I could've sworn I heard something else behind these words, as if he'd said something at the same time as saying that quite chilling sentence.

"Greatness requires sacrifice".

Which made me think of people being drowned in rivers and stolen money exchanging hands.

I lay motionless in the bed trying to work out what the hell was going on. I kept getting the feeling there was a puzzle piece I was missing, whatever was going on I needed something else to completely understand it. This all seemed to have something to do with Khun and my mind was drawn back to the incident the other night. As I was lost in my thoughts a nurse entered and coughed politely to get my attention, when I turned my head to look I could do nothing but gape. In her hand she held the biggest needle I've ever seen and hopefully ever will. She smiled apologetically and motioned me to give her my wrist, and as her fingers clamped over it an ocean of pain swelled up and crashed over me, but through these tidal waves I could see faces and places, people I'd never seen before and areas where I'd never been to. I got the remote detached feeling one normally gets in a dream where you can watch someone (most often yourself) live out their life as if you were right there watching them. I felt connections to these unknown images and clips of what I presume to be as memories, the nurse's memories. I felt like an intruder in someone's home or a tourist disturbing a sacred temple. My body seemed to disconnect from my mind and as it did it convulsed violently but I wasn't there, I was far away engulfed in darkness and miles from caring.

As I returned to the world I could tell something had changed, in me, in everything. Something had sparked the world's brilliance and it was all so much more beautiful, mysterious and so alluring, every aspect of the good of Mother Earth hid her poison, every step concealed a fall. I could see it all and feel it as if I was surging through the veins of creation, which I know sounds corny but it's the closest thing to what I felt and how monumental it really was. I was on top of the world and for that briefest of moments I knew everything. That counts for something doesn't it, doesn't it?

I turned my head and stared at the whitewashed wall, my heart filled with determination as I swung my legs out of bed and stood. As if without a care in the world I washed in the bathroom, splashing my face with cold water and changed into a pair of scrubs that were lying clean on the desk outside. I wandered out of the room and down the corridor, relishing in the absurdity of it all, feeling the adrenaline in my brain as it rushed through my bloodstream. I stepped out through the double-doors and watched the world in a perfect moment, the sun shined unparallel, the grass glistened with morning dew and everything for once stood still as my mind took a photograph, I even watched a bird sweep into my line of vision. Perfection had nothing on that moment. And as I took my first step as a new person a van pulled up to the kerb and out stepped Cyrus Kriticos along with a entourage of muscle. I went to run, but they got to me first and bundled me into the back of the van. Even as a scream formed in my throat a cloth was stuffed into my open mouth and the world turned to a rushing waterfall of colour until it ran dry and all was black.


	3. patient 1624311 pt 3

I felt something pull at my sleeve, I mumbled and swatted it away, thinking I was still home in my own bed and my pet golden Labrador, Sandy, was licking me awake. That earned a vicious slap across the face; I was fully awake then, when I opened my eyes to a burly man in a security uniform and remembered being bundled into the van, the unformed scream finally rose and I let it flow in jagged shrieks of trauma, of terror, of pain, of total and utter confusion.

I was left alone and when the screams finally dried up I looked around, I saw that I was still in the back of the van yet both the double doors were swung wide open. Beyond the van doors I could see that I was in a relatively huge clearing, surrounded on all sides by forest. The clearing was a dump, but had the aura of a building site. Massive cranes and diggers were clearing away pieces of twisted rusted metal; the floor was a carpet of shattered glass, workmen in yellow uniforms were running around looking busy. I found myself climbing out of the van to watch a crane lifting a sheer piece of glass from a truck and gently, ever so slowly, place it into brackets in the concrete foundations. So much seemed to be happening at once, everyone seemed to be in a rush to be finished, something new was being built over the wreckage of something old but I had the unmistakable feeling that they were rebuilding the old, rather than just building anew.

I stood staring at the scene for so long and became so lost in my own musing that I failed to realise that Cyrus Kriticos was walking determinedly towards me with a huge grin on his face, which looked very out of place on his usually stern and grim features.

"How are you enjoying the proceedings Ms McKlarik? I hope you are having a _ball_!" He laughed at his own sarcastic words and his face creased a little more.

"What in hell is going on here!?" Which was my own sophisticated answer and Cyrus's grin widened a little more, I thought if he smiled any wider than his face would just split like a banana.

"Well, I suppose I have you to thank you in advance for what will eventually come to pass"

His eyes hardened like steel after this but the grin remained as if it was painted on, I doubted severely if any of this so called "help" would be voluntarily, he continued rambling on.

"You will assist me in ways you can't yet begin to imagine…" He left the sentence hanging in the air as if it was the hangman's noose yet to be weighted.

I fumed silently at this…this "man" whom I'd admired and assisted over my past eight years at the asylum. He was nothing more than an ugly self-absorbed baboon.

He must've seen the fury building up in my eyes for he stepped back but that grin, which reminded me suddenly of a grinning skull, never left his face though it didn't touch those steel grey eyes.

I suddenly felt the cold icy finger of fear trace its path across my spine, I felt fear for myself, fear for the world and fear for that man stuck in the asylum, Ryan, who was trapped in this web made of some unknown thread.

I turned to run and realised I had no idea where I was. I could be absolutely anywhere. I grabbed Cyrus's shoulder and felt a tidal wave of memories sweep over me, drowning me. I fell to my knees but kept a hold of Cyrus.

I started to see pictures of this place, a glass house, a basement, a man and his children, a junkyard, the man I seen before in Cyrus's office and then the images descended into madness, things that had at one point were human but now were macabre monsters. Then there was Ryan but not as I knew him, he was one of those things. One of the worst. I watched as he tore a young woman up viciously and then a man as he lay on the ground. I caught the vaguest glimpse of a machine and then I fell unconscious with the terrible racking pain that cut through my mind and threw me once again into that black and empty place of cold indifference.


	4. Patient 1624311 pt 4

I was sleeping and watching myself sleep, I was dreaming but not really, a man stood over me, that same man whom I kept on seeing. He still wore the same suit and glasses.

"Who are you?"

I asked tentatively and he smiled, took my hand and more images flashed before me, fortunately this time no pain accompanied them.

I saw a man screaming from behind a sheet of glass, the glass had some writing on; it passed so quickly I could not discern any of it, a huge ghoulish monster picked up this suited man and bent him across a corner, I heard a crack and I saw glasses falling, I saw a young woman crushed between two sheets of the same glass, I saw a man cut in half and sliding down the glass and I heard laughing, ghastly high and evil laughing that turned my insides cold.

These visions, or whatever they may have been, faded, replaced by the same man but at least unbroken and unbent. But he was wearing red overalls instead of the suit and held a name tag up to me, Dennis Rafkin, it said, next to a picture of him. He closed his eyes and said.

"You better get going"

And I awakened back in the van.

It was dark, a solid blackness in which I could not even see my own hand when I waved it frantically in front of my face. I could feel the panic rat climbing steadily up my throat, eager to escape but I pushed it back because panic was not any use to me here. I turned to where I was sure the doors were, braced myself against the front seats and kicked as hard as I could. I gained no mean to escape through kicking the door but it sure made me feel better.

I gave up after four or five tries and sat, holding my head in my heads.

"How could I have gotten myself into this mess, I should be at home, in bed with a good glass of wine and a decent book"

I began to punch the door in frustration, this was not fair, this (in the manner of moody teenagers these days) so sucked.

To my surprise I fell out of the open door and I pondered why as I lay on the ground in a pile of leaves. I was still in the clearing; the building was even further on, in such a small amount of time. I felt dread settle in the pit of my stomach at the sight of that unfinished project.

I pulled myself from the ground and looked around for whoever had opened the door, there was no one around so I put it down to rust, yes, some kind of benevolent rust…

The sun was going down and it was getting chilly, I looked down and smiled because I realised I was still wearing the pale blue scrubs from the hospital. It made me feel sort of connected to the real world, in contrast to this surreal unreality.

I was shaken out of the smile when I saw a huge truck turning into the clearing; it was silver with no memorable markings.

Some men congregated around it as it turned then grounded to a halt, they all stood quietly but some looked on in fear, others solemn and a there was even a few smiling, as if eager. I felt sick looking at it, some deepened instinct told me that that particular truck was not carrying the workers' lunches.

They pulled up the back door of the faceless silver truck with a crack as it hit the roof but I could not see the contents, it faced away from me, towards the house. I heard the electronic whirring of a lifter and then screaming, the workers seemed not to hear it but it ricocheted inside my mind and it shattered the relative crystal silence of the twilight into millions of shards of darkness and evil.

I crept around the side of the clearing, hoping to see whatever was making that noise and stop it…somehow.

As I got in sight of the truck I saw, trapped in a tall rectangular shaped glass cage was a woman, minus her clothes and she was crying and screaming, slapping against the glass with her hands, terrified, as any other women would be. I covered my mouth with my hand, to discourage any treacherous scream from giving me away. The more I watched the more the bile rose in my throat. The glass was of the same variety as the house, as the visions, I had no clue of what was going on here but to hell was it good.

They pulled out another of the same cage and inside were a small child, his face was creased and red with tears, he was wearing brown trousers and a tan jacket, a discarded bow was lying beside him, not that it meant anything but I saw every detail as something.

I watched until I could no longer stand the screaming, the workers still seemed not to hear it, they weren't wearing earmuffs so I did not understand it. It got right inside my skull and refused to let go.

I crawled towards the road, for all I knew, there could be a town within a couple of miles but then again I could a thousand miles to the west of nowhere. I stood at the edge of the clearing and looked on at the road and saw another truck, followed by two others. If each one contained two cages then it was six people, six innocent people stuck inside this weird mess of a web.

I could not shake the unbearable urge to do something…Anything.


	5. Patient 1624311 pt 5

I couldn't cower in the bushes much longer, pins and needles were beginning to stab away at both my legs and a migraine was launching its terrible campaign against my vulnerable head.

I slipped towards the entrance once more and stared at the road, still desolate of any traffic and with a creeping mist smothering the tarmac it looked incredibly uninviting but with no where else to turn I left, knowing my inaction was cowardice of the worst kind. I'd only gone a few feet when a feeling rose in me that had never overcame me in such a way before, a roaring upward-firing Niagara of emotion that engulfed my usually indifferent heart in its intensity.

I turned from the road, still not knowing if it led to my salvation but beyond caring, I strode towards one of the unmanned lorries, hoping that someone was negligent enough to leave the keys in the ignition.

As I flung open the door I was greeted with such a sight, a ring of keys lay on the passenger's seat and I dived in, still unsure of what I was going to do but was glad I was doing it. It took a mere three or four seconds to properly start the truck up but that was all it took to attract the attention of the workmen. They swarmed to my right, jumping up and pulling at the handle, I struggled to control the machine and just managed to get it going when the door flew open. A dozen hands seemed to grab me by the hair and the shock of memories knocked the fight out of me before I could start. They dragged me out of the leviathan vehicle and onto the ground while others scrambled into the cabin to stop it crashing and perhaps exploding, I was cheering silently for it to blow up in an inferno of retribution, but hey who cares what I was wanting.

I sat on the ground, watching my very spontaneous, very unintentional plan flutter in the wind as scraps of burned hope. Two built up workmen stood guard-like at my sides and a very short, weedy man with a flopping moustache and a permanent sneer marched up to me, so red with indignation that he was surely in danger of a heart attack.

"What do you think you are doing you stupid little girl? You could have gotten a lot of people hurt; you must be very very stupid indeed!"

He most likely had a little man complex, I felt like laughing but noticed it was probably very "inappropriate" for this situation, and thinking of that made it all the worse. It was most possibly the shock making me feel like this, so I calmed myself down. My complete silence he took as insubordination and he yelled at the man

"Take that…that BRAT down to the basement!"

With that he swiftly left, his moustache flopping all the way. I was fuming but just managed to avoid a full blown tantrum, extremely inappropriate for a women to be doing at the age of twenty-three, even if she is under a mountain of stress.

The men looked uncertain for a moment then pointed the direction in which I was to walk and they monitored my progress from behind. For that mercy I was grateful, my mind was still reeling from the effects of my new curse.

A disturbing thought ran through me, if I could no longer have any physical contact with anyone without that spasm of pain how was I to…No, I pushed the troubling reflection on the turn of events away and gave myself a mental shake up, there were more important things to think about but the worrying consideration stayed there, at the edge of my thoughts.

They men showed me through the clearing to a front porch of such and opened a huge glass door, the same glass in the hallucinations, and directed me inside.

A maze of glass they led me through, so many twists and turns and stairs that there was a snowball's chance in hell that I could find my way back out quickly. I suddenly felt much like a little white sphere of snow, trapped in the eternal fire, with no real chance of escape.

They stopped at a cube and pointed inside, I sighed and nodded, surrendering to my fate readily with none of my before attitude, there seemed little point now. Walking inside I noticed that the writing covered the floor and ceiling too, mysterious if not just plain weird. Doors that I hadn't ever noticed being there swished shut and I jumped a little, not much mind you.

One of the men, it was difficult to tell between them, grimaced and threw a pair of plastic laboratory spectacles.

"Them's for help seeing the show if you needs 'em"

He said with a solemn look in his eye and his mouth an outright frown. They both nodded to me and left but not by the way we'd arrived together.

As I watched them go I stared at the specs, confused by the man's comment but even more confused by the almost sorrowful way he'd looked at me, as if he pitied me. At any other time in my life I would've laughed scornfully, I hated pity, especially coming from strangers, but here and now it seemed okay to accept it, to feel it and love it in case it was the last interaction with another person.

I kneeled, picked up the glasses and stood again.

I raised my hand, almost ready to put them on when I heard laughing, the same cold high laughter I heard in my vivid dreams. An ice spread through me at hearing that insane mirth, through my limbs and up my spine, its frozen fingers stroking the small of my back. The laughter held the air for a while but soon descended into crying, cries that I had heard before, cries that were so familiar to me. The name tripped out from my mouth at the same time I saw him, Ryan Kuhn.

He was in one of those tall glass cages, his wide eyes were red rimmed from fierce tears and he was bleeding from many self-inflicted slashes on his face, being free of the straightjacket. Ryan saw me and beat fitfully at the solid glass, crying out incoherently, screaming and tearing at himself before collapsing in a heap on the floor of the cage, twitching and mumbling to himself. As before the workmen pushing the stand seemed not to hear these screams of terror.

I had a thought and pulled the glasses to my face. When I resurveyed the scene I almost yelled out. The creature I remembered from the asylum, the one I had seen inside Ryan, stood over him, stroking at his head with it's claws and giggling in sinister glee from behind the iron bars.

With no way to stop the workmen from pushing the cage away I watched terrified as the creature kneeled to Ryan and whispered into his ear through the bars, whatever was said scared him. It scared him badly, he bucked at the monster, swinging at it with all his might but it stood and began to laugh again, such a terrifying sound that resonated through the air. If forced to listen to it any longer I too would surely go the way of Ryan and his sanity, luckily the sound faded away soon enough and I was left with silence, so pure I could almost feel it. I felt pity then for him, no wonder his condition was worsening. No wonder he was crazy, with that…that "thing" hanging over his shoulder. I had another thought. If he could hear it and see it perhaps he suffered from the same curse as myself. I suddenly understood of his fear of being touch.

I wept then, for myself in majority, trapped in this wretched place, tangled in this situation so bizarre I wondered if it was all an elaborate joke in which the punch line was still to be delivered. But I also cried for Ryan and for whatever hell he'd been put through, for whatever hell he was still to endure.


End file.
